Extra: Karuizawa Kei (Thanks for adding to the bookshelf)

My name is Kei Karuizawa, and this is my story.

The sunlight of elementary school was warm. I always sat in the front row of the classroom, and the red circles (for correct answers) on my homework piled up like small hills. My classmates would crowd around me to ask math questions, and even the teacher would smile and call me a "little sun."

Back then, I thought the days would always remain this bright.

In the first month of middle school, everything changed.

Yamamoto and her friends started bumping into me on purpose in the hallways, throwing my textbooks on the ground to trample them, and blocking my path on the way home from school.

They called me "stuck-up" and said I was "using my looks to steal the spotlight."

I wondered if they would stop ostracizing and bullying me if I just covered my face and made myself look dowdy.

I grew my bangs long enough to cover my eyes, switched to old, faded clothes, kept my head down when I spoke, and even hugged the walls when I walked.

[But I was wrong.]

They didn't hold back; instead, they became even more vicious.

Yamamura grabbed the birthday gift my parents had given me—that canvas bag embroidered with small daisies—and raised a pair of scissors in front of me.

"Do you think pretending to be a frump works?" She laughed with a grating sound. With a "snip," the scissors bit into the canvas, leaving a gash, and the daisy petals were shredded into pieces.

I lunged forward to grab it, but Yamamoto shoved me to the ground. They circled me, stepping on the fabric of the bag, telling me that "no matter how you dress, you can't change the fact that you're repulsive."

That day, I huddled in the corner of the hallway clutching my ruined bag, my tears splashing onto the damaged canvas.

I didn't understand why, even after I had hidden away all my light, I still couldn't escape the fate of being bullied.

My parents worked out of town and only asked about my grades over the phone. I didn't dare tell them I was being bullied; I was afraid they would worry, and even more afraid they would think I wasn't good enough.

I grew to hate talking to people, fearing that strangers would bully me just like they did. I became timid, locking myself in my room as soon as I got home, believing it to be my only "safe house."

On June 20th, I heard the sound of the door lock turning.

My mother had returned. She was carrying a suitcase, her face etched with the exhaustion of travel, but her gaze froze the moment it landed on me.

I had long bangs covering my eyes, wore an oversized old jacket, and my hair was a messy tangle against my cheeks—I was a different person from the smiling little girl with the high ponytail in her memories.

She frowned, her tone filled with confusion and reproach: "Kei, how did you become like this? Is it your rebellious phase? Are you ruining yourself on purpose?"

I opened my mouth, wanting to explain, but my throat felt as if it were blocked by something.

I could only lower my head and stare at the tips of my shoes. My mother sighed, didn't ask any further, and turned to unpack her luggage.

[I wanted Mom to know she was wrong, to realize on her own that I wasn't doing well, but she didn't.]

On June 21st, the doorbell rang.

I heard my mother open the door with a smile, exchanging pleasantries with a strange woman—her friend.

I instinctively shrank behind my door, gripping the handle tightly, too afraid to go out.

Their voices drifted in through the door panel. The woman's tone was puzzled: "What's wrong with your child? She didn't even greet me." My mother's voice sounded helpless: "It might be her rebellious phase; she's a bit shy."

They chatted for a long time, and I crouched behind the door, not daring to even breathe loudly.

Until I heard the sound of the door closing in the entryway. My mother's footsteps drew closer, and the next second, the door handle was turned with force, and she pulled the door open directly.

"Kei Karuizawa!" Her voice carried suppressed anger. "A guest is here and you don't even greet them? Hiding in your room like this—what kind of behavior is that? You have no manners at all!"

I was pulled out and stood in the center of the living room, bowing my head to endure the scolding.

Those words whipped against me like lashes. I wanted to explain that I wasn't being rebellious or impolite, that I was just afraid, but the tears welled up first.

I bit my lip to keep from sobbing out loud, and only when my mother turned and stormed back to her room did I collapse onto the floor, my shoulders trembling uncontrollably.

I cried until the middle of the night that day, my eyes swollen like walnuts, my pillow soaked through, and even in my dreams, I was being blamed.

On June 27th, everything was finally broken.

From the afternoon on, my mother had been knocking on my door, her tone filled with cautious negotiation.

"Kei, open the door. Mom needs to tell you something." I leaned against the door without answering, but her voice continued to drift in intermittently.

"Kei, I know you're hurting, and your father and I are hurting too. But we have to work to support the family; we can't stay by your side forever.

Your father met a boy today. He has a good personality and is an orphan with nowhere to go... We want to take him in, let him live here, and keep you company so you won't have to be alone anymore."

My mother's voice softened, carrying a hint of pleading. "He's very sensible and won't bother you. If someone is with you, we can rest easier. Just think of it as... having one more family member, okay?"

I leaned against the door panel, my whole body turning cold. Perhaps sensing my mother's gentleness, or perhaps out of a desperate longing for family, I agreed as if in a trance.

I regretted it the moment I agreed. Would that strange boy be like Yamamoto and her friends? Would he bully me, mock me, and despise the dowdy version of myself I had become?

It wasn't until I saw him and learned his name—Hoshida No—that I realized he was very good-looking, though his skin was deathly pale and his eyes held no emotion, giving off a cold, icy feeling.

On July 1st, my parents went back to work, leaving only him and me in the house.

[I was afraid again.]

The morning sunlight shone through the gap in the curtains, and a faint sound came from the living room. I held my breath and pressed myself against the door, keeping my breathing as shallow as possible.

I didn't know what he was doing. Was he sizing up the house, or was he talking about me, the girl hiding in her room? My fingertips turned white, and the image of Yamamoto and her friends shoving me played on a loop in my mind, along with the cruel grin on Yamamura's face as she raised the scissors.

After a long time, the sound outside ceased.

I hesitated for a long while before quietly turning the lock, leaving just a sliver of an opening.

The living room was empty, with two glasses of warm water on the dining table and an unopened loaf of bread beside them.

He stood on the balcony, his back to me. His frame was thin, and the morning light outlined the cold, hard contours of his profile; he still wore that same expressionless look.

Hearing the movement, he turned his head. My heart gave a violent jolt, and I immediately retreated into my room, slamming the door shut with a "bang" and leaning against the panel, gasping for air.

In that brief glance, his eyes had held no warmth, yet there was no disgust or mockery either—it was as if he were looking at something entirely inconsequential.

But that made me feel even more uneasy. I didn't know if his "kindness" was an act or if it was simply his nature.

How was I supposed to get along with him in the days to come? Should I take the initiative to speak? If he spoke to me, should I respond?

Fear coiled around my heart like vines. I crouched behind the door, hugging my knees, unable to stop the tears from welling up again.

It turned out that having "one more family member" didn't bring me peace of mind; instead, it had cost me the last shred of security I had in being alone.

July 3rd.

[I am truly terrified today.]

Yamamoto and the others found out from somewhere that my parents had left again. They blocked the stairwell during the break, and the words "a child with no parents to manage them" felt like poison-tipped needles, piercing my eardrums until they ached.

Before I could escape, they grabbed my hair and clothes, dragging me toward the restroom.

The cold tiles bit into my knees as they shoved me down onto the filthy toilet lid. Yamamoto held a bucket of foul-smelling sewage, a cruel smile hanging on her lips.

"Splash—"

The foul water streamed down my hair, soaking through my clothes and clinging stickily to my skin, the pungent odor forcing its way into my nasal cavity.

I struggled desperately, crying out "No" and "It stinks," but their hands held me down like iron clamps, their laughter echoing in the cramped restroom.

I don't know how I managed to escape. I only remember stumbling all the way home, the stench on my body clinging to me like a shadow I couldn't shake.

I pushed the door open to find the living room bathed in warm yellow light. Hoshida No had already prepared a meal, with two sets of bowls and chopsticks laid out neatly. But I didn't have the appetite to even look at it; I only wanted to rush into the bathroom to wash away the filth and escape back into my "safe house."

Just as I was about to run toward my room, my wrist was suddenly gripped by a force.

The cold sensation hit me, and I struggled violently as if scalded, screaming, "No!"

Sure enough, he was just like Yamamoto and the others—he had only been pretending, and now he was finally revealing his true face as a bully.

Despair washed over me like a tide. I stopped struggling, letting my body go limp, closing my eyes to wait for the humiliation to follow.

The grip on my wrist loosened.

I opened my eyes to see that my wrist was already bright red, stinging with pain.

Hoshida No stood before me, his gaze falling on my soaked clothes and stained hair. His tone was calm, without a single ripple: "Tell me, who did this to you."

I turned my head away, not wanting to look at him or speak. Those humiliating images replayed in my mind—how could I dare to trust anyone again?

His fingers suddenly pinched my chin, forcing my head to turn back.

Those eyes, which usually held no warmth, were like a frozen lake, so cold they made me shiver. "Answer me, who exactly was it."

That was the first time I had seen such icy eyes; they terrified me even more than the cruel laughter of Yamamoto and the others.

I trembled all over, my lips quivering as I stammered out Yamamoto's name, along with the names of the girls who always followed them.

He pressed for details about their appearance, height, and even the places they frequented. I felt as if all my strength had been drained away, leaving me no choice but to answer truthfully.

After I finished, I slumped onto the floor, tears falling silently. I didn't know why he was asking these things—was he going to report them, or was he going to help them bully me?

July 4th is a day I will never forget.

After the lunch break, I walked into the classroom with my head down, only to freeze the moment I crossed the threshold.

Yamamoto and those other girls were all kneeling on the floor at the back of the classroom.

Their faces were covered in bruises, dried blood staining their lips. Yamamoto's cheek was swollen high, she whistled when she spoke, and one of her front teeth was missing.

Their usual arrogance had vanished, leaving behind only wretchedness and fear.

The eyes of the entire class were fixed on me—some curious, some sympathetic, and some filled with an indescribable, scrutinizing gaze.

I instinctively stepped back, wanting to flee this bizarre scene, but Yamamoto called out to me.

"Karuizawa... I'm sorry." Her voice was choked with sobs, her head buried extremely low. "We shouldn't have bullied you, we shouldn't have done those terrible things to you. Please forgive us."

The others followed suit, kowtowing until their foreheads hit the floor with dull thuds: "I'm sorry, I was wrong... I'll pay you back for that schoolbag, please don't let him come after us again."

They apologized one by one, their posture humble to the extreme. I stood there, my whole body cold, my mind a complete blank.

Who? Who was this "he" they were talking about?

Before I could figure it out, the homeroom teacher walked into the classroom, face stern, and called me to the office.

Shortly after, I was taken into a police car, my destination the police station.

Sitting in the cold interrogation room, listening to the officer's questions, I slowly pieced together the truth—it was Hoshida No.

During the lunch break, he had used the information I provided to intercept them at the school gate and drag them into an alley.

Without a word of wasted breath, he had gone straight to work. It was said that his strikes were extremely heavy, and he remained expressionless throughout, as if he were performing the most mundane of tasks.

Yamamoto and the others had no room to resist, forced to endure his beating until they cried out for mercy.

The police said that when Hoshida No was brought in, he didn't have a single scratch on him, just a bit of dust on his clothes.

Facing the interrogation, he only calmly stated that "they bullied his younger sister," and beyond that, he said nothing more.

I sat there, the police officer's words echoing in my ears repeatedly, my heart feeling as if it were being gripped by something, leaving it aching and swollen.

The boy who had always filled me with fear, the one with the icy gaze, had actually done something so extreme for my sake.

I don't know how to describe my feelings at that moment; there was shock, bewilderment, and a trace of an indescribable warmth.

So, there really was someone who would stand up for me, someone who truly cared if I had been wronged.

Yet, looking at the photo the police handed over—of Hoshida No standing in the police station hallway with his head bowed—I couldn't help but feel afraid again.

If he could lay such heavy hands on others, would he one day do the same to me?

That cold, emotionless gaze appeared in my mind once more.

This time, however, it was different from the previous fear; it was mixed with complex emotions I couldn't quite decipher.

[This thought shouldn't have appeared in the first place; he only protects me.]

The days that followed felt like they had been put on fast-forward.

Yamamoto and her group never appeared again; I heard they had all transferred schools one after another and left the city.

As for Hoshida No, he would appear at the school gate punctually every day after class, leaning against the wall. His frame was thin, and his eyes still lacked warmth, yet he would silently follow behind me as I walked out of the school gates.

My situation eventually became known to the entire school, teachers and students alike.

Instead of the alienation and pointing fingers I had imagined, many classmates took the initiative to come over and comfort me, and the teachers spoke with me several times, their tones filled with genuine concern.

That feeling was complicated; it was as if the stone pressing down on my heart was being slowly moved aside, leaving me feeling somewhat overwhelmed and flattered.

I began to try and get along with everyone, slowly finding the person I used to be.

I trimmed my bangs that had been covering my eyes, tied my hair back into a high ponytail again, and revealed my clear forehead and a long-lost smile.

I threw away those old, washed-out clothes, put on pretty dresses, and started listening carefully in class and actively answering questions; the checkmarks on my homework began to increase again.

My classmates said that I had changed so much and that I was actually very pretty.

Only I knew that it was the appearance of Hoshida No and the kindness of everyone that gave me the courage to step out of the darkness.

On September 23rd, the sunset after school was exceptionally gentle, dyeing the sky an orange-pink.

Hoshida No followed behind me as usual. When we reached the alley near my house, I stopped, turned around, and gathered the courage to look at him: "Hoshida No, why did you help me?"

He froze, seemingly not expecting me to ask this question so suddenly.

The afterglow of the sunset filtered through his black hair, casting faint light and shadows across his face.

The next second, I saw an expression on his face I had never seen before—a smile.

The smile was faint, yet it was like a beam of light, illuminating his cold brows and eyes, so gentle that one couldn't look away.

His voice remained calm, yet it carried a trace of imperceptible warmth. A single, simple sentence made my heart race uncontrollably:

"Because Kei is my younger sister."

The evening breeze blew through the alley, carrying the scent of sweet osmanthus. I looked at the gentleness in his eyes, and my own eyes suddenly grew hot.

So, I was no longer alone. "Thank you, Brother No."

In the days to come, no matter what I encounter, I will never be afraid again.

Because I know that someone will always be by my side, acting as my strongest shield.

The snow before the New Year fell heavily, goose-feather-like flakes drifting down to dye the entire world white.

The moment the door lock turned, I saw my parents' travel-worn figures. They were carrying bags of New Year's goods, their faces full of exhaustion, yet they lit up the moment they saw me.

"Our Kei is finally back!" Mom hugged me tightly, her voice filled with excitement.

The dining table was filled with the dishes I loved, and I finally poured out all the grievances I had been holding in my heart for so long.

From the bullying by Yamamoto and her group to being doused with dirty water, I cried as I spoke, my tears falling like beads from a broken string.

My parents' expressions shifted from shock to fury. Dad slammed the table, rolled up his sleeves, and was about to go find Yamamoto and the others to settle the score, but I held him back firmly: "Dad, it's all in the past; they've already transferred schools."

Mom held me, tears falling as well: "It's Mom and Dad's fault for not being by your side and letting you suffer so much."

Dad sat to the side, sighing repeatedly, his eyes filled with self-reproach. When I mentioned how Hoshida No had stood up for me, my parents exchanged a look, their faces showing relieved smiles.

"That boy is a good kid; we must thank him properly later."

That night, Dad held Hoshida No's hand, insisting on pouring him a drink and saying they should "have a glass," but Mom stopped him with a smile: "He's still young and shouldn't drink; let's use tea instead."

Hoshida No sat there, still with his usual indifferent air, but when Dad patted his shoulder, he nodded gently.

The snow outside the window fell harder, but the light inside the house was warm and cozy. It was the feeling of a complete home that I hadn't experienced in a long time.

After the New Year, Brother No found a job at a cargo shop and came home very late every day.

I thought he wouldn't come to school to pick me up like he used to, and I felt a bit disappointed.

Yet, after school, I could still see his figure at the usual spot by the school gate.

"Brother No, you don't have to work so hard," I walked over and said softly.

He shook his head: "It's fine, it's on the way."

Looking at the tall and handsome Hoshida No before me, I realized my heart was wavering. I took the initiative to hook my arm through his, and seeing him pause only slightly without stopping me, I grew bolder and leaned my body against him.

[This is the first time I have been this close to him.]

Later, I heard from a classmate that a girl from a neighboring class had confessed to Brother No, saying she liked his composure and temperament.

My heart felt blocked by something, heavy and stifling, and I was listless for the entire day.

When school ended, I couldn't help but ask him, "Brother No, someone said... someone confessed to you?"

He glanced at me and said calmly, "Mn, I rejected her."

At that moment, the stone in my heart suddenly fell away, the corners of my mouth couldn't help but lift, and even my steps became much lighter.

March 8th is my birthday.

Brother No specifically asked his boss for a day off to take me to the city center.

We browsed a stationery store and bought the notebook and fountain pen I liked. We went to a dessert shop and ate strawberry cake.

We also went to an accessory shop, where he picked up a blue hair tie and asked me, "Do you like it?" The hair tie was made of velvet, the color was vibrant, and it was adorned with a tiny pearl.

I nodded, and he paid for it, telling me the price was 6,999 yen.

I took off the gold hair tie I had been wearing and replaced it with this blue one. Brother No looked at me, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly: "It looks very good."

That day, I was truly happy, tugging on Brother No's sleeve and talking about so many things, from funny stories at school to my plans for the future. He listened patiently the whole time, occasionally responding with a word or two.

Another year passed, and I noticed that a pink-haired girl often appeared at the convenience store where Brother No worked.

She was always dressed in a clean school uniform, coming to the store after school to help out—organizing shelves, cleaning up, and even bringing Brother No a bento.

My heart felt sour, and I assumed she was trying to build rapport by helping out, hoping to snatch Brother No away.

Once, when I went to the store after school to wait for Brother No, the girl took the initiative to walk over and greet me with a smile: "You're Kei, right? I'm Ichinose Honami."

Her smile was very gentle, like a sunflower.

As we chatted, I learned that Honami had also received help from Brother No. "Brother No is a very kind person," Honami said, "I come here to help out just because I want to thank him."

Upon learning the truth, the tension in my heart loosened. I even became good friends with Honami.

When my birthday arrived again, I asked a question that made me shy: "Do you like Honami more, or do you like me more?"

I still remember Brother No's strange expression at the time, but he still answered that he liked me more, after all, I am his little sister.

[That day, I remained immersed in those words: "Like me more."]